


State Trooper

by breakfastforbeginners



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3722419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakfastforbeginners/pseuds/breakfastforbeginners
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re driving along a road. He hopes it leads somewhere he used to dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	State Trooper

**Author's Note:**

> Title and song is all Bruce Springsteen’s yo. Language warning. That conversation when Lori was cutting carrots never happened.

...

Mr. State Trooper

Please don’t stop me

Please don’t stop me

…

 

 

They’re in the car and for once, it’s just her and him. He can’t remember the last time she voluntarily put herself in a situation where they’d have to be alone, and the thought makes him grip the steering wheel just a little tighter.

It’s the old pick-up truck, and he guesses it’s probably more Daryl’s style, but the honest truth of it is, it used to be his kind of thing. Back when he was seventeen and Rick stole his father’s bourbon so they could drink in the empty parking lots at one in the morning. It feels like another person’s life.

Lori’s silent and leaning heavily against the door on her side. He doesn’t have to glance at her to know the look on her face. She still hates him then. What was the fucking point of her coming anyway? His knuckles are shock-white so he pries one hand off to tuck against his temple, leaning on his door in turn. The window’s been broken since the last herd of Walkers blew through, and he doesn’t want to think about how much blood and glass is probably still on the floor, under the seats.

They won’t be getting out. They won’t be stopping. This is just recon, and it’s not like he needs anyone with him. Lori had hopped on in, slammed the door and bit out to Rick, “Watch Carl.”

He guesses they had another fight. It’s not like they never had them before the shit hit the fan, but Shane’s been watching, closer than ever, closer than he should, and he knows they’re getting worse. Lori’s eyes are often more red than white and he hates the way her nails idly scratch the skin of her forehead, leaving no marks behind.  She’s doing it now, her neck twisted so he can’t see the way she bites her lip. Just the trees. He hates it because he knows that baby is probably his, and she’s getting stressed over nothing.

Rick ain’t the kind of guy to understand. He’s too busy planning excursions out into the town, or saving strangers and leaving her behind. Shane drops his hand back to the wheel and rests the other on the gear stick. He likes the way the tinny machine rattles and hums. The _hurr hurr_ of the truck keeps his mind off that dark path it settles on whenever he thinks of his best friend now.

But now he can’t help noticing Lori still hasn’t said a word. Shane taps the wheel with a shaky hand and wonders how the hell to start a conversation with this woman. They’ve practically said everything that needs saying in one lifetime over the past month or two. He hates how time just loses meaning these days.

Shane’s eyes flick down at the dashboard and he wishes the radio still worked. God, anything to break this silence! He chances a look over at Lori but she’s got her gaze fixed on the road, that hard line on her brow letting him know she’s thinking real hard about trying not to say something that’ll hurt them both. She had that line a lot when she turned eighteen and her mother locked the doors by five.

That’s when he notices it. His eyes are skipping back across the black knobs and dials, the old tuner dead as doornails, when he spots the cassette tape poking out of the little slot beside it. God, how old was this piece of shit? It’s black like the rest of the board so he pops it in with one insistent finger. The light over the tuner turns on and the speakers crackle to life.

_New Jersey Turnpike_

_Ridin’ on a wet night_

_‘Neath the refinery’s glow_

_Out where the great black rivers flow_

God must be laughing his ass off. Shane shakes his head, completely speechless, covering a choked laugh with a weak fist.

He looks over the dash and catches her smiling behind her fingers. Lori keeps her eyes on the passing trees and Shane turns back to the road, shifting a gear down as they climb the long slow hill before them. His own smile stretches into a full-blown grin, and the back of his hand plays with the shape of his lips, his elbow propped on the open car window. He starts to hum along with the Boss, tapping one hand on the wheel before he bursts into laughter. He can feel the wind blowing across his face, through his shorn hair and Lori is trying not to laugh with him.

Somehow it feels like everything’s back the way it was. Nothing can touch him in this moment. Nothing but Lori. Her feet shuffle across the wrecked floor of the pick-up and bump into his. He looks at her from the corner of his eyes and loves how the sun catches the golden-red strands of her hair as it falls over her shoulder when she finally laughs.

“Daryl must have wound it back for you.” She slips one hand under her thigh. It’s an old habit but it’s somehow comforting.

“I’ll have to thank him,” He sounds sarcastic, but he’s worried because he really will. Lori’s practically glowing with her intermittent smiles, her eyes moving between the forest and him. She’s scanning for something but he doesn’t know what.

“You know the others might like you if you smiled more. Like you are now.” He takes his eyes off the road to look at her, really look at her. God he is so sick of these half-steps forward and the running away afterwards. He’s sick of being the one always chasing.

He turns back to the road. It’s empty. “I ain’t here to make friends, Lori.”

She’s quiet for a beat again, still sitting on her hand.

“Why are you here?”

_Please don’t stop me, Please don’t stop me_ , the words are fucking beating into his head through the god-awful speakers and he takes the risk. Like an idiot he stretches the hand on the gear stick out towards her, fumbling to squeeze her knee, just a bit. He retreats even faster.

“Someone’s gotta look out for you and Carl.”

He watches her twist her face towards the window again through the rear-view mirror. He’s so fucking sick of her hiding her feelings. He’s trying to be honest! Isn’t that what women want!?

“Rick –“

“Rick, what, Lori?” He cuts in, gripping the wheel again with two hands. “Rick looks after you and Carl? He doesn’t. He’s never around, and you haven’t noticed! He’s too busy saving everybody else’s ass, don’t matter who, he’s gotta go off and be a _damn hero_. Where does that leave you and Carl?”

There. He’s said it. Shane pushes his lips together and glares at the road as the car eats it up, tar under tires.

“Where does that leave you and the baby?”

“So that’s what this is? The baby? Shane…” Her hand clamps down on his arm and he lowers his eyes to glare at it too. “It’s not yours. It’s Rick’s.”

He bites the inside of his cheek, just for a second. “Yeah, but how do you know, Lor? It could be mine. You know it could.” He’s half pleading with her, but she knows he’s right – he can see it in her eyes. She takes back her hand and stares at the dashboard.

He doesn’t know why he keeps checking the rear view mirror. He just does.

And then there’s that void between them again, like a gun to his head.

If he were a better man he would have given up on her a long time ago. But he’s not, and he can’t. Shane shuts his mouth anyway and they both listen in pained silence as Bruce Springsteen cooees the last final note, hammering on his guitar. The tape keeps playing and Shane looks for the next exit to turn about in. They’ll head back and she won’t say anything. And he’ll keep hoping.


End file.
